


A place between logic and philosophy

by bramblesforbreakfast



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Les Mis Reverse Bang 2015, set before the plot of the musical, triumvirate friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblesforbreakfast/pseuds/bramblesforbreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Logic can only lead to War, whereas Philosophy ends in Peace."</p>
<p>When Enjolras and Combeferre get into a severe argument about the course of action for Les Amis de l'ABC, Courfeyrac finds himself between conflicting parties. Will the chief and the guide be able to settle their dispute and renew their friendship or will the group of friends be split by the different views of their two leaders?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A place between logic and philosophy

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Les Miserablés Reverse Bang 2015 and companion to the amazing art of [jaune-valjeen](http://jaune-valjeen.tumblr.com/) that you can find [here](http://jaune-valjeen.tumblr.com/post/120013012731/between-two-lights-combeferres-preference-was).
> 
> Hope you enjoy...

Whistling under his breath, Courfeyrac greeted the porter and tapped the brim of his hat. She knew him well enough to let him pass without asking where he was going since he was a common guest in the house for nearly all the time Combeferre had rented his room here. Four long years... Courfeyrac grinned and thought that he was getting old.

The basket over his arm weighed heavy but he made the climb up to the top floor with little difficulty, only tripping over the crooked steps in the middle of the second staircase like he always did. Why Enjolras insisted to meet at Combeferre's room was a mystery to Courfeyrac, his rooms were so much nicer... and on the ground floor.

Passing the few doors on the third floor, he already heard the familiar murmur of a debate in the small attic room, ducking under the raggedy roof of the shabby house. He smiled about them getting started before he even got there, but that was a rather usual thing for them to do so he did not mind.

Hesitating, his hand resting on the railing, Courfeyrac frowned. What was most unusual were the heated, hard edges to their voices that he could even hear out here on the stairs.

Deciding to find out what his best friends were arguing so fiercely about, Courfeyrac took the last few steps in pairs and ended up knocking his usual greeting against the old wood: tap – knock-knock-knock – tap – tap. The voices died down immediately and Combeferre's voice echoed out to him: “Do come in, it is open.”

Entering the room, Courfeyrac put on his most beaming smile – the one Jehan always compared to the first beams of the summer sun or some other romantic notion – and greeted happily: “Bonsoir, mes amis! I see you could not await my arrival before getting into one of your disputes again?”

“Bonsoir, indeed!”, snarled Enjolras and whirled around from where he was standing by the side of Combeferre's bulky old table, overflowing with books, papers and correspondences. He was sporting that icy glare of his whenever he was feeling challenged – Courfeyrac sensed that something must be amiss if he was already that aggravated – and his face was white with anger, resembling the marble Grantaire was always talking about more than actual living flesh. His long, soft blond hair had fallen out of his ponytail and bounced around his fierce face with every movement.

“It is half past nine, do you call this _evening_? You were supposed to arrive over two hours ago!”, he snapped angrily while Combeferre, leaning by the window, took off his glasses with a frown of his own and started cleaning them into his waistcoat.

“Excuse me?”, laughed Courfeyrac and put the basket down on Combeferre's narrow bed that usually served as his seat, “And find the door still closed because Monsieur Combeferre is overworking himself at the hospital again and you storming up just in time because you could not leave the Sorbonne any earlier of fear the world might go down in a revolution you could miss?”

“Careful, de Courfeyrac!”, snapped Enjolras and pointed a long, pale finger at him.

“Pardi!”, exclaimed Courfeyrac, feeling irritation creep up his neck while Enjolras had used the accursed particle he had inherited by birth and could not shake off, “What did you do to him, Combeferre? I have not seen him in such a bad mood since the night Grantaire tried to...”

“Do NOT mention that person around me!”, spat Enjolras, turning his back at Courfeyrac who shook his head with a roll of his eyes and turned back to Combeferre.

His friend was staring out the window into the moonlit streets of Paris, his face as pale as ever, the bags under his eyes darker than usually. His hair seemed even paler and duller than usual and there was a strained touch to his brow that worried Courfeyrac.

“Well, Combeferre.”, he tried to get his attention while Combeferre sighed deeply and took off his pale blue coat – the one too long and too wide for him but that he would not give away as much as Courfeyrac would plead with him – while carefully loosening his cravat around his neck, “You are so quiet tonight, was today's lecture not to your liking?”

“It was very much to my liking.”, said Combeferre and sounded tired, “It was very fascinating indeed. Illnesses of the liver...”

“And I beg you to stop right there!”, laughed Courfeyrac while he got the food he had bought for them out of the basket, “Last time you told me about one of those dreadful lectures, I could not sleep for nights in a row and lost my appetite for an entire week!”

“Could we _please_ return to the topic I wanted to cover tonight?”, snarled Enjolras while Courfeyrac patted the bed for Combeferre to sit down and have something to eat. But seemingly both were not inclined to take any of the food Courfeyrac had brought – or the wine, for that matter.

“And what exactly _was_ the topic?”, asked Courfeyrac.

“Your friend Enjolras has proposed open war in the streets of Paris.”, said Combeferre flat, leaning against his wardrobe while Courfeyrac nearly dropped the bread he held.

“It's called a revolution!”, snapped Enjolras, his eyes twinkling fiercely.

“It will cost many lifes.”, warned Combeferre and again there was an edge to his voice.

“And it would free thousand others.”, retorted Enjolras, hands curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

“Violence is not an answer to oppression.”, said Combeferre quietly and fixed his eyes hard on Enjolras.

“But sitting around idly will not change a thing. We need to take action! We are at the verge of a new age! The republic is near, I can feel it in my bones. We need to fight for our rights!”, demanded Enjolras, thumping his fist onto the table between him and Combeferre.

“Did I miss the point where we turned from academical discussions and musings to actually planning the rise of the republic?”, tried Courfeyrac to distract them because all of this was new to him. But Combeferre and Enjolras simply ignored him, glaring at the other challenging.

“We need to educate people, we need to show them that they have rights and...”, gave Combeferre back while Enjolras interrupted him by barking: “And you think they will listen while they are dying from hunger, watching their children die from cholera while husbands, brothers and fathers are made redundant every single day? Do you think they will listen to your philosophical gibberish?”

“At least my ways will not rip families apart and kill our young like the barricades of 1830!”, gave Combeferre back and the icy tone to his voice made Enjolras snort.

“You are a _hypocrite_!”, he barked and pointed at the medicine student with an angry gesture, “You yourself stood on those very barricades and now you dare to criticize _me_ when I attempt to lead the people to freedom?!”

“If I had not been with you on that barricade, one of your thoughtless whims would have cost your head.”, snarled Combeferre back and Courfeyrac knew that he could not be silent any longer when Combeferre spoke in that kind of voice.

“Diable, friends!”, he interrupted and jumped to his feet, stepping to the table to be the mediator they desperately needed, “Would you please not loose your heads over a debate so minimal as this one?”

“Minimal?!”, barked Enjolras and towered over Courfeyrac suddenly, “You think planning the liberation of our great nation is a _minimal_ debate?”

“I only think that you and Combeferre will never agree on this topic unless one of you dies before the end of the discussion.”, tried Courfeyrac to jest but Enjolras groaned infuriated, turning to Combeferre.

“Do not your own philosophies tell us that violence is a matter of self-defence, Monsieur?”, asked Enjolras heated and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear while drilling his piercing gaze into Combeferre's sparkling dark eyes, “Is it not just logical to use violence against those who endanger our rights and the striving of this nation?”

“As a resolution in case of gravest danger!”, said Combeferre pressed and dug his fingers into the backrest of his chair, “Violence is only always the _last_ thing to consider. But if the people are educated, if they start to think...”

“Oh well, then go on and tell the workingmen that they are not thinking now. I am curious what Feuilly has to say to such accusations!”, gloated Enjolras cruelly.

Combeferre dragged his spectacles from his nose and spat angrily: “I did not say such a thing, Enjolras! I only meant to make you see...”

“So now you are educating _me_ instead of the unthinking workingmen?”

“Putain, Enjolras!”, shouted Combeferre and Courfeyrac jumped so much from hearing his so steady, so calm friend shout in earnest, “I would _try_ if you were not so obstinate, unreasonable and ignorant about everything but your beloved Patria!”

Courfeyrac held his breath and stared at Combeferre glaring angrily at Enjolras who had straightened up indignantly. They were eyeing each other with cold, hostile eyes and finally Enjolras turned to take his hat and his coat from the trunk next to the door.

“You will excuse me, Monsieur.”, said Enjolras icy and switched to the impersonal pronoun _vous_ while addressing Combeferre, “I did not come here to be attacked by a lowly peasant doctor like yourself. I wish you a good night. Courfeyrac, adieu.”

And he vanished out the door. Courfeyrac slowly looked to Combeferre who was trembling with anger by now. Enjolras was a charming young man, but sometimes he chose his words so that he could be the most terrible person Courfeyrac had ever met. Yet never before had Enjolras used those words against one of his friends. Not once. And especially not on Combeferre who he knew since they had been boys.

“He will calm down, Combeferre, and then he will apologize.”, tried Courfeyrac to mediate once again, stepping to Combeferre to rub his arm comforting.

Combeferre shrugged his hand off and whirled around, spitting out bitterly: “He will not. He meant every word. He is such a hothead and will get himself and hundreds of others killed if he pursues that ridiculous plan of his. Barricades! _Barricades_ two years after hundreds died to abolish a king only to have the next take his throne days later! He is too blind to see the fear in the people.”

“But he sees the anger, Combeferre.”, said Courfeyrac, “He sees the dissatisfaction of the people that led to the last revolution. He thinks they will only need another spark to ignite and unite against the suppression.”

“And be slaughtered like kettle in the streets!”, snapped Combeferre and whirled around, glaring angry at Courfeyrac, “Enjolras is willing to risk his life, that is his decision. But he can not demand of others to do so. He can not count on the people risking their lives for him. He can not declare open war on the streets of Paris! Just because the anger stroke a revolution two years ago does not mean that the logical conclusion of the anger today is also a revolution!”

“But...”, started Courfeyrac, seeking to console Combeferre and maybe save what had remained from his affection for Enjolras but Combeferre cut him short.

“If you will not listen to me either, why are you still here, de Courfeyrac?”, ranted Combeferre and closed the distance between them until he could glare down at Courfeyrac's horrified face, “Go and join your fearless leader and call the people to arms, condemn them to death if you are unwilling to see that all we need is proper education and support for the poor. Go and blacken his boots if you are so fond of his ideas!”

“But Combeferre...”

“Out, I said!”, shouted Combeferre and pushed at Courfeyrac's shoulder hard.

Shocked, Courfeyrac stumbled back and caught himself before he fell. Staring back at Combeferre – not so different from Enjolras now that he was blazing with anger – he straightened his coat a little and mumbled: “Combeferre, if you should need anything...”

“Out!”, snarled Combeferre and under his cold glare, Courfeyrac left, feeling chilled to the bone and shaken to the depth of his core.

 

:<∙>:

 

“And then he threw me out of his room.”, closed Courfeyrac his account and looked at the person opposite from him.

Twirling a strand of his too long hair around his finger deep in thoughts, biting his lower lip and wearing the probably most ugly, orange waistcoat Courfeyrac had seen all his life in combination with a bright red-green-blue-striped cravat, the poet was considering what he had heard just now.

“That does sound so unlike Étienne”, Jehan always used their first names as the only one of the Friends of the ABC, “that I can hardly believe what you just told me.”, he sighed in his soft, dreamy voice and shook his head, “He is pushing himself too much.”

“ _Enjolras_ has been pushing him too much.”, muttered Courfeyrac and refilled their glasses.

“Enjolras has visions, he has been just determined to make you believe.”, declared a slurry voice to his right.

At a table a few meters away from them, Grantaire had woken from his drunken stupor, hair an untamed mess, face waxen, eyes deep in the sockets, chin covered in unkempt stubble and sidewhiskers grown too long to be fashionable anymore. His nose had been broken at least twice in his numerous bar brawls and had remained a little crooked ever since. The edge of one of his front teeth was also missing since one particularly heavy brawl he had attended to assist Bahorel.

“You talk about him like he is a god.”, groaned Courfeyrac who could pay no mind to the pitiful drunkard who loved Enjolras with his whole soul and seemed to wallow in the sweet agony that was Enjolras' indifference about his feelings, “And you are the high priest of his cult, for that matter.”

“He's Apollo, bathed in sunlight and crowned with the first leaves of spring...”, slurred Grantaire still intoxicated by the wine and rubbed his face with a grubby hand while Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

“That was lovely, dear Henri.”, said Jehan and blushed a little when the drunkard stared blankly at him for the compliment – and for using his first name, probably.

“This is bad.”, muttered their third companion and Courfeyrac directed his attention to Feuilly who was smoking his clay pipe with a deep frown, cap pulled low over his eyes.

Feuilly was the only workingman in their group and no student. He was a stern and controlled fellow who only ever developed true passion when speaking about Poland. But this matter seemed important enough that he shared his thoughts with his friends as he added: “Enjolras and Combeferre disunited about a decision... The ABC will be strained with no result.”

“Do you not think I know that?”, asked Courfeyrac tiredly and took a deep sip from his glass, hearing his darkest thoughts affirmed by Feuilly, “With the current political situation and Lamarque fallen ill, I think something major will happen soon. Diable! And we need to stand united if that day comes and not quarrel about philosophy and logic.”

“But philosophy is important!”, huffed Jehan and started taking notes for a new poem on the front pages of his small edition of the writings of Rousseau, his neat, tiny handwriting filling the page quickly, flowing around the title and the name of the author effortlessly.

“But will change nothing in the world. A revolution would and it is the only logical resolution to the current situation.”, threw Feuilly in and shot a challenging look towards Jehan who frowned and chose to ignore him.

“You see?”, asked Courfeyrac and emptied his glass, feeling hollow and desperate all of a sudden, like a big black hole had swallowed his heart, “It starts. With Enjolras and Combeferre disunited, we all start arguing. Instead we should stand together.”

“You are always so good at keeping us grounded and united, Clément.”, said Jehan softly and patted his arm encouraging, “Do not worry. As long as we have you, we will not be disunited.”

Courfeyrac poured himself another glass of wine and emptied it in one large gulp instead of answering, hoping to fill up that dark hole that was tearing at his heart. He had dreaded to hear such words. He had dreaded that the Friends of the ABC would turn to him for guidance or leadership when Combeferre and Enjolras were not able to do just that – or not agreeing, for that matter.

But he could not provide that. Combeferre was the guide – was Courfeyrac's own guide – and Enjolras their chief, their leader. Courfeyrac might be a reliable source if it came to centring all their work and keeping their motley group together, but he was lost without his friends and felt that loss curse through his veins more bitter than any poison would.

 

:<∙>:

 

“Did you see any of them since then?”, asked Lesgle while he followed Courfeyrac to their next lecture, pushing through the crowds inside the Sorbonne while stumbling over feet, bags and broken tiles.

“No.”, groaned Courfeyrac and rubbed his face tiredly, clutching his books under one arm, “Enjolras has disappeared and Combeferre declined opening his door when I went to see him. He did not even _talk_ to me when I tried to strike a conversation through the closed door besides a very unfriendly 'I have work to do, de Courfeyrac!'”

“So the usage of the particle is allowed again?”, asked Lesgle and grinned cheeky.

“No, it is _not_!”, snapped Courfeyrac and caught his arm when he stumbled yet again and apologized to a fellow student whose books fell in a pile to the floor. They stooped and helped picking them up before resuming their walk to the lecture hall.

“And what did the Friends say?”, asked Lesgle while they pushed into the hall, seeking to find seats further to the back which was a difficult endeavour considering the overflowing lectures of the law department, “What was Feuilly's opinion on the matter?”

“He did not give away a lot, I am afraid.”, groaned Courfeyrac and collapsed into a seat while Lesgle sat down next to him, “His usual cryptic self. But rather agreeing with Enjolras, I should think, like always...”

“Joly told me Bahorel is already hoarding ammunition while Prouvaire is working on a pamphlet to educate the workingmen about non-violent ways of protest.”, acknowledged Lesgle carefully and patted Courfeyrac's shoulder sympathetically while latter dropped his forehead to the table and groaned pitifully.

“And what about you and Joly?”, asked Courfeyrac disgruntled, knowing that both of them came only as a pair, never apart, “What do you think?”

“Joly stands with Combeferre.”, said Lesgle and shrugged his shoulders, “Always has been, I guess. Those two have been inside dead people up to their elbows, I understand why they would dread open battle.”

“And you?”, insisted Courfeyrac tiredly, turning his head to look at him.

“I guess I would be unlucky enough to take the very first bullet shot in the revolution and be killed.”, chuckled Lesgle, way too amused by what Courfeyrac thought was developing into a full-grown tragedy, “And I know Joly would die from worries if it should come to a fight. He will fight, of course, like I will when it comes to the worst. But we... it is a very delicate matter.”

“Lamarque is ill and fading faster every day.”, groaned Courfeyrac and turned to stare at the tabletop again, dropping his voice so that only Lesgle could hear him, “The other republican clubs are stirring and the ABC is torn in two. As I am too, by the way.”

“Pardi!”, laughed Lesgle and patted Courfeyrac's shoulder roughly, “Do not be so melodramatic, Courfeyrac! They will calm down soon and will see that their fight was childish. And if they will not, I am sure you will find a way to make sure they will, because that is what you are best at!”

Courfeyrac groaned defeated and closed his eyes, feeling bile rise in his throat. Why did everyone expect that he had the solution to the dispute between his best friends? Why was everyone thinking that this row was just a childish whim?

He had never seen them like this, had never heard them talking like this. They knew each other longer than they knew Courfeyrac and had been always two halves of the same coin. They had been two opposing ends of a scale but had complemented each other so magnificently that they sometimes seemed unable to function without each other.

And at this moment, Courfeyrac thought that he was unable to function without them, as seemed to be the same for the ABC.

 

:<∙>:

 

“You need to proofread this pamphlet for me by tomorrow! It is the red one inside the book.”

The notebook that dropped onto the table in front of him and crumpled his paper made Courfeyrac jump and turn surprised to the speaker.

Enjolras was turning to leave already so Courfeyrac sprang to his feet and grabbed his arm to hold him back.

“Not so fast, Enjolras!”, he called, maybe a little too loud, “You can not just _vanish_ for four days without a trace and then invade in my study and demand I do the tasks usually assigned to Combeferre.”

“Well, as you see: I did, I can and I expect it back by noon tomorrow!”

“Enjolras!”

The blond man took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders before turning back to Courfeyrac, his face smooth and calm, cold like a marble statue. For everyone who did not know Enjolras like Courfeyrac knew him, he must have seemed completely at peace. But Courfeyrac knew him better.

His eyes were red rimmed and the small veins in his eyes were showing. He was even more pale than usual and his lips were chapped and bitten. His eyes were narrowed just a little, a sign of how exhausted and restless he was. His coat was ruffled and the cravat only bound superficially, his trade-mark red waistcoat even buttoned down the wrong way. Courfeyrac felt helpless and had to close his eyes, take a deep breath and calm down before he was able to talk again, seeing his friend in that dilapidated state.

“I did not see you for _four_ days. You were not at your room when I came looking for you. You did not even reply to my messages.”, protested Courfeyrac disappointed, “And now you come in here with a pamphlet that... what does it say, by the way?”

He turned and grasped the small leather-bound book that had fallen onto his desk in the dusty library of the Sorbonne. He drew out the red paper Enjolras had mentioned and recognized Enjolras' tidy handwriting. His eyes scanned over the text quickly and found no rhetorical fault immediately, besides...

“'Armed revolution in the streets of Paris?'”, asked Courfeyrac and lowered the paper while staring at Enjolras who was watching intently.

“Our only chance to change the future of our land. Our only chance to make the republic a reality.”, replied Enjolras, slowly crossing his arms.

“Do you not think that talking to our fellow citizens would be a better way of changing the course of the future? Many would die in such a fight.”, stated Courfeyrac calmly and saw Enjolras' eyes hardening.

“So you are taking Combeferre's side in this then?”, he asked icy and tried to snatch the paper away but Courfeyrac drew it back.

“I am not!”, protested Courfeyrac, feeling irritated that both his best friends thought he would choose one amongst them over the other, “You know I am not. But you two are both so incredibly stubborn and _radical_ when it comes to your believes.”

“If a king fails to care for his people, it is only logical to remove him from the power.”, lectured Enjolras and tried to stare Courfeyrac into obedience, “And if said king refuses to be removed, it is only logical to defend ourselves against him and his despotism by force.”

“I know that and your words are making perfect sense to me, Enjolras.”, groaned Courfeyrac and tried to approach him, take his elbow or his shoulder but Enjolras backed away, “But Combeferre has a point as well when he says that there will be many deaths. And he is also right if he acknowledges that the people... the _people_ , Enjolras, not me and not the Friends... they might be reluctant considering the many deaths in the June Uprising of 1830. Educating the people first and taking their fear away might be the wiser approach.”

“So you are taking his side anyway?”, snapped Enjolras and snatched the book away, “I should have known, it was always you and him against me and my believes. Maybe you two should take your leave then and let me lead the Friends like I deem it right.”

Courfeyrac made a step back and took a shocked breath while one of his two best friends glared hard at him. Enjolras never showed affections towards anyone, even Courfeyrac's trained eyes sometimes missed the traces, but Courfeyrac had always thought that Enjolras held deeper affection for him and Combeferre than to just cast them aside at the first hint of a dispute.

“Surely you do not mean that, do you?”, asked Courfeyrac, feeling his throat tighten.

“I mean _everything_ I say.”, said Enjolras sternly but upon seeing Courfeyrac's hurt expression, he took a deep breath, pushed his hand through his hair that tangled in the loose ponytail and added: “Though I would rather not see you leave the ABC. We need you, Courfeyrac, I need you.”

“And you need Combeferre!”, insisted Courfeyrac and watched disappointed how Enjolras' face turned dark and hard again.

“I do not need him, I know that now.”, said Enjolras hard and Courfeyrac could make out the hint of disappointment and hurt in Enjolras' voice, “He has been weighing me down, leading me astray from the path that needs to be taken. He has always been too different from me than to understand me. He is a coward and a hypocrite!”

“Putain, Enjolras, how can you talk about your _best friend_ like that?”, exclaimed Courfeyrac desperate and threw his arms into the air, marching towards his desk again, “You used to be so close, please do not tell me one little argument will end your friendship just like that.”

“This was not just a little argument, Courfeyrac.”, said Enjolras and sounded so sober all of a sudden that Courfeyrac turned to him again and frowned, “This is what all the tension lately built to. It was only logical that our differences would finally clash and force a wedge between us. But I will accept that if it means I will be free to pursue what is best for our nation! If Combeferre can follow his own principles and be content and happy with his decisions, I can be as well.”

“So you would rather die in a revolution than make up to Combeferre for calling him a lowly peasant doctor?”, asked Courfeyrac bitterly, seeing his hope about a reunion of his best friends fading into the dark. Although Enjolras was still only wishing the best for Combeferre, his last sentence had shown that.

Enjolras turned a little awkward and scratched his hairline slowly, not meeting Courfeyrac's eyes when he murmured in a very untypical low voice: “Those words were spoken in anger and I did not... He knows that they are not true.”

“Do you think he does?”, asked Courfeyrac softly and reached out to grab Enjolras shoulder, “Because I really think he must have taken them to be your personal opinion about him, Enjolras. You know how much your opinion matters to him. You know how much _you_ matter to him. He was... _is_ very hurt. You do not want your friendship to end like this, if it really has to end.”

“It has ended.”, said Enjolras quietly and looked up, seeming so much younger and fragile all of a sudden while all the harshness and severity seemed to slip from his face, “And you know that, Courfeyrac. So if you would be so kind to proofread that until tomorrow, I would be very grateful.”

And with those words he took his leave, Courfeyrac standing in the study assigned to him and Lesgle, breathing deeply while tears rose in his eyes. His hand curled around the accursed pamphlet he had to proofread and in an angry whim he tore the red paper. Staring down at his hands, he not only saw two frayed pieces of paper shaking in his hands, but also his friendship with Enjolras and Combeferre break.

 

:<∙>:

 

Tap – knock-knock-knock – tap – tap.

Courfeyrac took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He waited, his head tipped forward a little, tapping his foot the longer there was no answer.

“Combeferre!”, he demanded, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears, “I know you are at home. Joly told me I would find you here. Please, open the door.”

There was shuffling from within the room but still no answer. Courfeyrac sighed and had to close his eyes, his heart beating heavy against his ribs.

“Please, Ferre.”, begged Courfeyrac and felt embarrassed about how pathetic his voice sounded, “Please, I have not seen you in almost a week and Joly says you are not well and I am very much concerned for you. Please, just tell me whether you are well or not. _Please_!”

Courfeyrac bit his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut, dreading that there would still be no answer. He heard soft footsteps, then the key turning in the lock. He straightened up just in time for Combeferre opening the door to his room. Courfeyrac was shocked to say the least.

Combeferre was paler, more haggard and tired than he had seen him ever since he knew him. His skin was translucent, blueish bags under his eyes, a strain in his brow that made him look years older than he was. Lips bitten, eyes tired, he stared down at his feet, not able to look at Courfeyrac. His hair was dishevelled and he only wore a simple shirt; coat, waistcoat and cravat shed, the shirt hanging open over his chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“I sincerely apologize for worrying you, Courfeyrac. I did not mean to cause you any kind of trouble.”, he murmured and let go off the door, turning back to his room to let Courfeyrac in.

“Your pain is no trouble to me, my friend!”, said Courfeyrac worried and followed, grabbing Combeferre's shoulder as soon as they stood in the middle of his room, even more messy than usual, “You know that I would come to your aid, no matter what has happened between...”

Combeferre turned slowly to Courfeyrac and cut him short with a quiet voice: “I am sorry I threw you out last time you were here.”

“You were angry and disappointed, I understand.”, tried Courfeyrac to assure him, “Those things Enjolras said were awful, even for him.”

“But they still remain true.”, sighed Combeferre and went back to his chair, collapsing into the cushions while he grabbed a bottle on the desk. Now Courfeyrac understood what the peculiar smell around Combeferre had been, so unfamiliar for him that Courfeyrac could not even make out what it was.

“Are you drinking?”, he asked shocked and started forward to grab the bottle from Combeferre, who let go rather willingly.

“It is like Grantaire says.”, huffed Combeferre and took off his glasses, placing his face into his palm, shoulders sinking, “The more it burns, the more it kills whatever it is that torments you.”

“You are no drunkard, Ferre.”, scolded Courfeyrac, put the bottle out of reach and went to the window to let some cool summer air into the room, “You are better than this. You are a clever man and you do not need any intoxicants to solve your problems. You are the most intelligent man I know, if I should tell you the truth.”

“I am nothing but a lowly peasant doctor... no, a lowly peasant _trying_ to be a doctor who can not even keep his friends from doom.”, groaned Combeferre and his shoulders started shaking.

Courfeyrac dropped to his knees in front of Combeferre and put his hands onto his friend's knees to offer a little consolation. He sighed and whispered: “You know that Enjolras did not mean those words. He told me himself that he did not mean them and that they were spoken in anger. And you are not unable to guide us. You are our guide, Combeferre, you are and always will be our guide.”

“Then tell me why I received this at the hospital today.”, said Combeferre, raised his head from his hand and dug his other hand into his pocket, drawing out a red piece of paper that made Courfeyrac's heart shrink. He just stared at the pamphlet in Combeferre's hand – one of the best that Enjolras had ever written and that would penetrate deep into the hearts of the people and place them at the ABC's side – and took a deep breath.

“Enjolras has called the people to arms. He says our time is here and that we have to fight yet again.”, groaned Combeferre and shook his head tormented, “I understand that Louis-Phillipe will never give up the throne. And I understand that we can not watch how our nation suffers. But this is the wrong way, Courfeyrac, this is the wrong time!”

Combeferre clawed a hand into his hair, squeezing his eyes shut while his glasses slipped on his tear-slicked skin.

Courfeyrac's heart bled to see his friend suffer like this. He carefully rubbed Combeferre's knees and tried to console him: “If you understand all that, do you not think that Enjolras might have a point by saying we need force to achieve our goals? Last time the people of Paris rose, the Bourbons lost their throne. Who says the people can not cause another monarch to be dethroned? Who says that we will not have a republic after the next revolution?”

Combeferre opened his eyes again and dropped his hand from his hair to his knee, clasping Courfeyrac's hand while he stared tired, sad and desperate at his younger friend, his eyes still glistening with tears when he mumbled under his breath: “Who says we will survive the fight and see that republic ourselves?”

And Courfeyrac understood.

Finally he understood why Combeferre's philosophy had become his guiding light after the barricades of 1830, why he renounced any violence since those three days of fighting in the Rue de Rohan alongside Enjolras and the Friends.

Combeferre had been one of the few doctors available at the time and had seen the destruction a revolution could bring. He had treated strangers but also his friends. He had taken the bullet from Bahorel's shoulder, had treated the bayonet wound in Enjolras' hip and had seen to the countless cuts and scrapings on the other Friends.

And Courfeyrac finally understood.

He slowly took Combeferre's hands in his and raised them to place a soft, fond and caring kiss to the knuckles before looking up at his friend who was crying again. Without words, he had understood that Courfeyrac understood his reasons for falling out with Enjolras.

“I remember one of your very first speeches for the ABC.”, said Courfeyrac softly and squeezed his hands carefully, “You said there was a brighter future if we could grant education to everyone. You said a peaceful future was all you wished for your children. But you also said, if it came to the extreme, there was no other way than to defend our rights, our freedom and our nation against anyone who threatened it.”

“I was young and dumb.”, groaned Combeferre, closing his eyes again, desperation on his face.

“And you were right.”, said Courfeyrac softly and Combeferre made a pained noise, because he knew, he saw the logic and knew that he had been right, “But I also understand that you think education is the only way to change things. And you are right with that as well. But education will not change the present, Ferre. It will change the future, slowly. We will not see that change, we will die before it takes turns for the better. We live here and now. We tried to show our opposition to the monarchy – before, on and after the barricades of 1830.

Feuilly says the workingmen are angry, he says they will stand with us if it came to the extreme. Enjolras thinks the time has come again. And I too heard rumours and saw people unite in their anger. Combeferre, the fight is inevitable if we want to show our nation that it is chained by the very man who claims to be the citizen-king. The fight will shake the people.

Maybe a few of us will die, but we will die as martyrs for a greater cause. I am willing to give my life at Enjolras' side if that means that the grandchildren of our grandchildren will live in freedom and peace.

You showed me that it was honourable and good to die for such a cause, your guidance brought me to a point in my life where I value nothing more than my friends and my country. And my friends are willing to die for the latter and I am going to be with them when the time comes. We decided freely, Combeferre, we decided by the principles of compassion and honour your philosophy taught us, that your guidance has shown us.

You are a noble man, Combeferre, and I love you for fearing for your friends and I will not condemn you for your reluctance to see us harmed because that means your compassion is greater than mine, than Enjolras', than any of the Friend's. But we will not die, Combeferre, we will go down in history as the generation that freed their nation. We will go down as the heroes we are, Combeferre. As the leader Enjolras is, as the guide you are, as the friends we were and always will be.”

“You are forgetting about yourself.”, chided Combeferre softly and shook his head at Courfeyrac, squeezing his hands in turn, a soft smile playing around his lips, “You, the centre of our friends. You, who keeps us together and united, who knows what everyone needs and dreams of. You, whose compassion is no less noble and pure than mine. And who, by the way, should hold public speeches much more often.”

“Pray do not mock me now.”, said Courfeyrac, his heart still on his sleeve, “I might start crying if you insist on teasing me now.”

“I did not do such a thing.”, murmured Combeferre and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on Courfeyrac's forehead, his lips lingering maybe a little longer than it was necessary but Courfeyrac would never complain about that, “Thank you, my dear friend. I feel like finally a weight is lifted off my heart. And thank you for guiding me back to my designated path. I have been a fool...”

“Enjolras' dry logic often serves to lead people astray and make them bristle against the truth.”, replied Courfeyrac and grinned relieved that the smile returned to Combeferre's features again, “I do not blame you. You two are so very different, disputes are a logical conclusion.”

“Nevertheless I thank you.”, said Combeferre and pushed a hand through his hair, “I think I should rejoin the ABC soon. I need to apologize to Enjolras.”

“First...”, grinned Courfeyrac and helped Combeferre to get up and stroll to the bed, “You will let Enjolras stammer out an apology, I would sell my best pair of gloves to see that and you know how many compliments I got for them last season. But for now, you should probably get that alcohol out of your organism or you will feel as ill as your patients tomorrow.”

 

:<∙>:

 

_Lamarque is dead._

The words echoed through Courfeyrac's mind while he ran through the dark streets of Paris, fear cursing through his body with every step he got closer to the Musain. The grief about the loss of their last defendant had wounded him deeply and he knew how much Enjolras must be hurting from the loss of his political light figure.

He was not sure if Enjolras had already heard. If Gavroche had been with him in the Musain, he probably had not. If the urchin had been on the streets though... Courfeyrac dreaded the thought that Enjolras had to learn from anyone but him or Combeferre.

Since he had gone to see Combeferre, a day had passed and he had heard nothing of either of the two. He did not know if their dispute was resolved or not, did not dare to ask, did not dare to imagine what would happen now if it was not resolved.

The ABC would still be split, Joly and Jehan would stand to Combeferre, so Lesgle would be with them as well. Feuilly, Bahorel and Grantaire would side with Enjolras. And in the middle, Courfeyrac would find himself alone.

Although Combeferre had seemed to change his mind about the fight to come – and it would come, Courfeyrac had received news of the other clubs, the fight would come – Courfeyrac was not sure if the others would change their opinion if there had not been an official reunion of Enjolras and Combeferre beforehand. The ABC would not stand together. The ABC would fall.

Courfeyrac pushed open the front door of the Musain and found it nearly empty. The owner greeted him with a shy smile while Courfeyrac hurried up the stairs in the back of the café to get to their back room. Before he rushed in the room though, he hesitated in the hallway because he heard soft voices.

“... not mean what I said.”, he heard Enjolras say downtrodden.

“Courfeyrac mentioned as much.”, answered Combeferre sullenly.

“Courfeyrac talked to you about this?”

“Indeed he did. He was very worried about me... about the two of us.”

“He should not always believe that the weight of everything we do rests upon his shoulders.”

“You know Courfeyrac, Enjolras. If something is amiss, he will fight as long as it is not right.”

“I know. And I adore him deeply for acting on the emotions I sometimes am not able to show... Anyway... I hope you accept my sincerest apology about what I said... and did. I know you fear for us. I know you think education is the key, but...”

“I have been with Courfeyrac through all those thoughts, Enjolras. I was afraid, I still _am_ afraid. But I know that we can start the change if we stand up now. If we stand together now.”

Courfeyrac's heart was beating fast and hard in his chest while he listened to the conversation. So the argument would be resolved after all. Hearing them talk in levelled voices again, without shouting and those dreadful edges to their voices, made his heart sing and his head swim with happiness.

“I am so happy to know you at my side again, Combeferre. I am not good at... I am usually... You know I have difficulties voicing my... affection for my friends but... You know that I am... I am very happy to consider you my best friend, Étienne.”

“And I am happy you allow me back at your side, Enjolras. I would not want to be anywhere else in this whole world.”

Courfeyrac heard them take a few steps, then there was silence in the back room. Tears of joy burning in his eyes, Courfeyrac took the last few stairs into the room and hurried in to find his friends hugging tightly in the middle of the otherwise empty room.

“Pardi, mes amis!”, called Courfeyrac and stumbled over to them, grinning form ear to ear, “You know my opinion about spontaneous shows of brotherly affection!”

Enjolras shrunk back from Combeferre who smiled wide and fond at Courfeyrac stumbling towards them to draw them both into a hug, each arm wound around one of their necks. He buried his face first in Combeferre's hair to place a kiss there, then he did the same thing with Enjolras and rejoiced with a tear-thick voice: “I hate them if I am not granted a part in them...”

Combeferre laughed and hugged back and even Enjolras relaxed a moment later and wrapped an arm around Combeferre, the other around Courfeyrac. Standing in the back room of the Musain like this, his two best friends in his arms, Courfeyrac thought that the perils of the world could not touch him.

A moment later, Enjolras broke free and patted Courfeyrac's shoulder while Combeferre's hand remained in the small of Courfeyrac's back, handing his friend a handkerchief to dab away the tears on his face. Courfeyrac thanked him and cleaned himself, shaking his head while mumbling: “And I thought I should never live to see this day.”

“The argument was not that bad.”, contradicted Enjolras and patted Courfeyrac's shoulder a little before sitting down again. Courfeyrac joined him at the table and Combeferre took a seat next to him, still smiling at his friends in turns.

“It nearly ended a fifteen year long friendship and would have most likely shattered the ABC.”, snorted Courfeyrac and waived the handkerchief at Enjolras, “So yes, it was _that_ bad.”

“You are too melodramatic.”, grumbled Enjolras and sorted through a few papers on the table.

“Everyone seems to think that lately.”, grinned Courfeyrac and remembered Lesgle telling him the exact same thing.

“What brings you here at this late hour, Courfeyrac?”, asked Combeferre and with this question, the gravity of the news Courfeyrac had to delivered weighed his smile down again.

He stuffed the handkerchief up his sleeve and sighed, rubbing at his eyes while he fiddled with the brim of his hat in the other hand. Enjolras and Combeferre waited patiently while Courfeyrac collected himself and looked at Enjolras again.

“Lamarque is dead.”

Enjolras paled and his lips went into a white, hard line. Combeferre cursed under his breath, then thought better of it and made the sign of the cross to pray for the soul of the dead general. Silence settled while Enjolras clasped his shaking hands on the table and stared into the flame of the small candle lighting their gathering.

Courfeyrac watched him and saw the turmoil of thoughts behind his blue eyes, the fear, the sadness and the sparks of hope that whirled through his mind upon hearing these news. Combeferre seemed to have ended his prayers and watched Enjolras as well. Their leader was deep in thoughts for a few moments, then he raised his head and called: “Gavroche!”

The boy appeared out of nowhere from the staircase and rubbed his nose with his sleeve, grinning at the three men, the grin missing a few teeth. Enjolras waived him over and produced a few coins from his purse that he handed to the boy.

“Go and fetch the rest of the Friends.”, ordered Enjolras sober, “Make haste and tell them it is the most pressing matter that I call them here for.”

“Will do, m'sieur.”, grinned the boy and darted out of the room after stuffing the coins into his pocket.

Courfeyrac watched his departure weary and turned his attention back to Enjolras once the boy was gone. Enjolras slipped out of his black coat, unbuttoned his red vest slowly and loosened the cravat around his neck afterwards, still staring thoughtful at the tabletop.

“This is the hour of fate.”, said Enjolras low and pinched the bridge of his nose, “His death... Lamarque's death... it is our sign. He was one of the last true people's men. With him gone, no one will fight for our rights. With him gone, the royalty will become even more cruel, even more indiscriminate.”

“What do you propose?”, asked Combeferre, nodding along to what Enjolras had said.

“This is the time we must strike.”, declared Enjolras, “At his funeral, they will honour his name... _we_ will honour his name. The flame of rebellion is alight in the people. We just need to feed it. At the funeral procession, at the tomb of Lamarque, our barricades will rise again. The _people_ will rise once more.”

“And Louis-Phillipe will loose his throne. The people will finally see the need for a republic after all these years of oppression first by the Bourbons and then by the Orléans!”, rejoiced Courfeyrac and grinned, Enjolras' sober enthusiasm infectious as always.

He was right. Everything they had worked for would come true now. The people were ready, they would stand with them, Paris would fight once more and overthrow those who oppressed them.

“This time, the people might really be ready and might finally abolish the royalty and help build the republic.”, mused Combeferre and smiled at Courfeyrac who laughed delighted.

“The other clubs have shown their readiness to join us if it came to the extreme.”, declared Courfeyrac and nodded at Enjolras who granted him one of his few genuine smiles.

There was a fire in Enjolras' eyes, a warm blaze that was able to inspire people. Courfeyrac had seen it in his blue eyes the day before the barricades of 1830. He had had that same vibrant warmth, that same infectious passion in his voice before he had given a rousing speech that had lured the people onto the streets and onto the barricades in the streets of Paris on those late days of July that had abolished the reign of the Bourbons.

“Our time has come.”, declared Enjolras and reached out to take the hands of his friends in his, squeezing lightly, “We are ready. The people are ready. The barricades will rise again. They will come one and all.”

“Yes.”, smiled Combeferre and turned to smile at Courfeyrac, “They will come when we call.”

Courfeyrac laughed and felt hope rise in his chest. This time, they were ready. This time, the people would rise with them like they did in 1830. The barricades would rise all over the city and workingmen, students, the bourgeoisie and military would stand side by side and deface the royalty and their supporters. They would abolish the monarchy and raise the republic from the ashes of the old regime.

And he, Courfeyrac, would be amongst them. He would stand amongst the revolutionaries and uphold the flag of the republic. He would watch Enjolras, fierce and beautiful, his blond hair untamed, his eyes blazing while he was wielding a slender rifle, screaming orders while they would follow him like the Myrmidons followed Achilles into battle.

And Combeferre would be right at his side, the faithful Patroclus to Enjolras' Achilles, devoted to his friend in the deepest form of friendship between two men. He would fight and he would guide, he would be there for those who felt lost in the whirls of violence and destruction and would need a guiding hand to show them why they were fighting and for what they stood.

And Courfeyrac would stand beside Enjolras and Combeferre, his best friends. And together, they would lead France into a better future. Their time had finally come, his place was here with them. They would be free at last.

**Author's Note:**

> The references to the June Uprising of 1830 were highly influenced by me reading the fabulous novel [Virago ](http://www.amazon.co.uk/VIRAGO-Ellie-Valsin-ebook/dp/B00UOALYZG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1432719225&sr=8-1&keywords=ellie+valsin) by Ellie Valsin shortly before writing this story.
> 
> Thanks again to jaune-valjeen for the gorgeous art that I was allowed to form into a story! :)


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